This Is War
by bonniebonbon
Summary: This story is about war. Before, after, during. What it accomplishes and destroys. When it starts and when it ends, when it loses and when it wins. How it affects your past, present and future. In ways you want it to, in ways you don't. (It's pretty goddamn ruthless)


Songfic of [This Is War] by 30 Seconds to Mars

* * *

i. this is war

This story is about _war_. Before, after, during. What it accomplishes and destroys. When it starts and when it ends, when it loses and when it wins.

How it affects your past, present and future. In ways you want it to, in ways you don't.

[It's pretty goddamn ruthless.]

* * *

ii. the martyr

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Lily let out a cry of despair for her husband. Tears ran down her face as she knew she was next-and then, Harry. She picked her son up and looked around for a place to hide him-she considered one of the drawers but worried that he wouldn't be able to breathe. She laid him back in the crib, hoping that he would survive, that somehow this one-year-old would beat one of the greatest wizards in history. More tears streamed as she realized it was _hopeless_. She just hoped that death didn't hurt, for her husband's sake, for hers and for her son.

As she heard footsteps, her heart beat quicker and quicker until it felt like a bomb ready to explode. She kneeled at the crib, reassuring her son that _everything will be okay _and that she _loved him very much. _She told him to stay_ strong. _She told him to be _brave. _

He entered the nursery, cloaked. She knew it was _Him_, just by the way he walked and his high-pitched cackle.

"Not Harry, not Harry…please not Harry!"

"Stand aside you silly girl … stand aside now."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead…" If…if she could just save Harry…she was going to die…but Harry…

"This is your last warning…"

"Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy… " Lily begged and begged, but she knew Lord Voldemort was merciless. Why she even tried was beyond her. She just prayed that Harry would listen to his mother, just this once, and be strong and brave and _alive._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

_October 31, 1981_. That was the day the war ended. But also when a whole new one began.

* * *

iii. the leader

"You must be wondering why I called all of you here this evening." Albus Dumbledore paced back and forth, speaking to the witches and wizards before him. "I'd be surprise if you aren't."

The room stayed silent apart from the sound of Dumbledore's constant footsteps. He continued, knowing that no one would speak any time soon.

"As you know, these are dark times. Voldemort-" One or two people flinched. Dumbledore gave a small sigh of disapproval. He would have usually said that fear of the name increased fear of the thing itself, but tonight was not the night for that conversation. He carried on.

"-Voldemort is back."

No one questioned him, they already knew, despite everything the Daily Prophet said. But everyone still _hoped-_they hoped that _perhaps _they were wrong, and _perhaps 'He' _was really gone. Dumbledore had crushed their hopes-no, it wasn't fair for the blame to be on Dumbledore. It was called _reality. _

[Reality sometimes hurt.]

"I am here to announce that it is crucial that the Order be reformed." Dumbledore continued. "I'm afraid the war has started."

* * *

iv. the civilian

"Who's that? Coming this late at night, _honestly, _don't people have _manners _these days…" Vernon Dursley walked to the door and opened it to see two strangely dressed people-the woman wearing a pair of shorts over her dress and the man wearing a pair of overalls and an orange tie covered with penguins and ducks. Vernon wasn't sure if they were completely mad, or if they just had very peculiar fashion sense. Either way, he didn't like them at once, as Dursleys didn't like mad _or _weird people. As you had probably heard before, the Dursleys were very normal, _thank you very much._

"Oh, you must be Vernon! Pleasure to meet you, I'm Dedalus Diggle and this is Hestia Jones. I saw you had a car in the driveway-great, clever machine, that is. Could never drive one myself, impressive how all you muggles do that. You…you can drive, right?"

"I…can…drive?" Vernon was offended by Mr. Diggle's question. "Of course I can bloody well drive! Now, tell us about whatever you want to sell, and then get the bloody hell out of here!"

"Oh, we're not here to sell you anything, Mr. Dursley. We were here to inform you that you must leave Number Four, Privet Drive at once."

Vernon's face began to heat up and Dudley, sitting next to his mother in the living room whispered, "Dad's gone mad _again, _hasn't he?" Harry, sitting on one of the armchairs laughed but covered it with a cough.

"Are you…are you some kind of _clowns?_ Trying to act all _clever _and such? Or real estate agents? Petunia, Dudley and I are very happy with this house, and we are not planning on selling it anytime soon! I know it is very spacious, but it is not for sale!"

"Last time I checked, Harry Potter was living here, too." Vernon struggled to speak as the woman carried on. "Is he here?"

Harry stood up and walked towards them. "Hestia! D-Dedalus!" Harry was sure he recognized the voices. But he liked them anyway, even without knowing they were in the Order. He liked anyone who infuriated his uncle, really.

"Y-you know these two people, boy?"

"Of course I do! They're in the Order!"

"Order? What…what is an _Order?_" He turned to Petunia, who shook her head hastily, saying that she didn't know.

"No time for explanations-Mr. Dursley, I assure you that we are not _Clowns_, though I am fascinated to hear what those are-"

"Diggle, not now. Mr. Dursley, we have packed all your necessary things-we must leave now." On cue, three suitcases floated down the stairs and landed right in front of him. "You…you're wizards!"

"Oh for heaven sakes, how _slow _can you possibly get?" Hestia said exasperatedly. Harry muttered, "You have no idea," and the witch laughed.

"Get out of my house! Out! Out! Now!"

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Sir. You see, we cannot leave without you. Dumbledore's orders."

"Dumbledore? That crackpot old fool that teaches magic at Pigfarts!?"

Hestia pointed her wand at Vernon, who had gone pale. "Do_ not _insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me," she lowered her wand and shoved it back in her pocket. "Besides, he doesn't teach at _Hogwarts _anymore. He's dead, you see."

Vernon let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding when the woman put away her wand, and returned to his usual skin tone of purple."Dead? T-then, how did he give you orders?"

"It's _Dumbledore_, he's been planning everything since the day he was born. He told us to make sure Harry Potter's guardians would be safe when the Order reformed. Second thing he told us actually; the first being to _protect Harry Potter no matter what_. So please, _if _you could co-operate, it would be most appreciated."

"He-this is a _dead man _we're speaking of-just _assumes _we'll grab our bags and leave our home for over _twenty years?_"

"Yes, Sir. Now, we must get going."

"You-you _can't_ be serious!"

"I have never been more serious in my life."

"We have to _leave?_ But…that's _rubbish!_"

"Mr. Dursley, I assure you-it's a matter of _life _and _death_. It is, as I understand it-what you would call _war._"

* * *

v. the soldier

"Where is he? _Where is Harry Potter?_"

"I don't know, and even if I _did, _I wouldn't be telling you any time soon."

"What did you just say? Oh, you'll regret saying that, mark my words. I'll _make _you regret it, Mr. Longbottom."

"I'm sure you will…_Professor." Torture me all you want, I won't make a sound._

* * *

"Neville, are you okay-?"

"Excellent. Never been better. I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend."

"Roller coaster? What's-"

"Muggle amusement ride. Like a broom, except you can't steer it yourself."

"Well, what good is that?"

"Don't ask me, Hannah told me about it."

"You sure you okay, Nev?"

"Fine! Great, actually. I feel invincible. You know-it's about time that we start up Dumbledore's Army again. We're in a war, after all, and wars need soldiers."

* * *

vi. the pariah

Draco had finally found a conclusion after a few years of confusion and uncertainty.

_The war was stupid. _Wars in general were stupid.

His mother always tried to _understand _him, always asked him what he was _thinking _and what he wanted to _do. _But she failed, over and over again.

How could she possibly understand him when he didn't even understand himself?

He was not _thinking _anything. All he _thought _about was how to get out of this alive, how his family could be back to normal. Even though it wasn't that good before, even though his mother and father had loads of fights back then, it would've been a whole lot better than this living hell.

He didn't have a bloody _choice _of what he wanted to _do._ He would have to do it, even if it was completely mental and he had no chance of survival. Because Voldemort would kill them, anyway; him and his mother.

[Honestly, he couldn't have care less for his father.]

His mother asked him what was wrong, who made him mad, who made him cry _so damn much. _He replied by storming out of the room, grabbing the first thing he saw and hurling it across the room.

[Because the truth was, _everything _was wrong.]

He tried putting the blame on somebody, because there must've been someone he could blame for putting him in this mess. He ended up putting it on everybody, even on the people (or _person) _he loved.

He put it on Harry Potter first. Without him, there wouldn't be this whole war in the first place. But then again, it was destined to happen-the prophecy said so.

Then he blamed Snape. For no reason at all, just because he was so cruel to him that he just _had to _have something to do with it.

Then, Dumbledore. Because for a second, he made him want to leave. Leave the dark side and go to the light. He was going to, actually, before Snape stepped in and killed him. Sometimes he wondered what would've happened for him and his mother if they went; the other times he wished that _he_ was the one to kill him. _Why was an old man of over a century years old allowed to live while others, barely 17, had their lives ruined? He had a long life, he already accomplished tons. Why did some people die so early while some lived so long? Why did some die when their lives only just begun?_

Then he knew (or so he thought) who it was. He knew who did this all, who demolished his life. It was his parents. Both of them. If he wasn't born a _Malfoy_...things would've been different. Even the side he'd be fighting on.

But even that turned out to be wrong.

As much as he didn't want to admit it-It was, if truth be told, himself. _He _was his greatest friend and his greatest enemy. Or simply his greatest enemy, he didn't have friends, you see.

While others wished to win this war, he wished for it to be _over._ Or that it had never even started.

* * *

viii. the victor

Voldemort was dead, a long war was finally over. Why weren't more people celebrating?

_There is no success without sacrifices._

She lived under that rule. She was a Slytherin after all.

Her parents were very strict about blood. They believed Pure-bloods were the best. They were loving parents, still. Not all Slytherins were heartless. It was a reputation that none other than Lord Voldemort had given them.

For that, she hated the Dark Lord.

Her mother and father, agreeing with Voldemort's beliefs, had the dark mark etched into their skin like many others. However the war had changed them, like it changed many others. Overtime they opposed Lord Voldemort's opinions, and focused more on keeping their family alive than killing muggles and muggleborns.

When he was defeated, her family united and apparated away, celebrating with a fancy dinner and fireworks. She was happy for the first time in months; except, a small thought bothered her.

_Is it really success when sacrifices must be made?_

But she concluded as the night passed that a) her family was safe and b) that was all that mattered.

And was it really called _war _if no sacrifices were made?

* * *

vi. the victim

Every war had victims. Everyone knew that. _He _knew that.

He was wondering where his twin brother went. Why Percy was crying for the first time in years. He didn't know until he saw his brother in the Great Hall, staring at the enchanted ceiling for longer than he should've be able to.

He was in denial, at first. Freddie couldn't _possibly _have left him. They made a pact. They _promised _that they would never _ever _leave each other. The longest they've been apart was a day and 7 and ½ hours. He remembers, because it was the longest day of his life.

So how on _earth _was he supposed to live another day without him? Another week? Month? Year?

How long would he have to go on knowing that he never would see his brother again until the sweet escape of _death?_

He continued to be in denial for the first five months. Which had its pros and cons by itself. A "pro" being that he could still laugh and sing and prank, pretending that his twin (and best friend) was in Romania visiting Charlie. The "con" being that _when _he found out, _when _he finally accepted the fact that _he was gone-_it made it _ohso_much worse.

It was the constant suicidal thoughts at first. _Why not just hang yourself and be united with your brother once more?_ But then he thinks of his family, and he realizes that he couldn't do that.

Then it was the hallucinations. The strange mood swings. The weird idiosyncrasies ('_don't make potatoes' _just because they were Fred's favourite food or _'don't wash that' _because it had Fred's scent on it.)

There was the time where he had all the mirrors removed from the house because the reflection made him nostalgic, and the time where he threw out their clock because he hated to see "Fred" on _home. _He _wasn't _home, he was _gone, _and George was sad and angry and _frustrated. _Why _Fred_? Why, of all people? He hated how this made him sound, but he'd rather Mum or Dad died-at least then he would have his twin to find comfort in. He knew he wouldn't be saying this if he was in his right mind, but he just couldn't help it.

It took a little over three years for him to get rid of the hallucinations and thoughts and mood swings and idiosyncrasies. He had found someone else to comfort him, not in the way Fred did but in another way he liked-or, even _loved._ Her name was Angelina, but that's a whole different story.

He accepted the fact that war had its victims. He's accepted that long ago.

He never accepted the fact that Fred was one of them.

* * *

ix. the messiah

It has been 19 years since the war, and for 19 years his scar did not hurt. He had three amazing children, a beautiful wife, loyal friends and family and a high-paying job-what more could he ask for?

All was well.

[For now.]

* * *

x. the good and the evil

It won't be much longer before another Dark Wizard enters the world, and another war will be started-Good vs. Evil, **Dark **vs. _Light._ It will, without a doubt, involve blood, scars, wounds, deaths, revenge and betrayal. It won't be pretty-but when has a war ever been _pretty?_

People will change (for better or worse), laws and ethics will be modified and old methods and traditions will be replaced with new ones.

A long lasting war is over. But who knows when a new one will begin?


End file.
